Purple Hand and Worm
by Celesse
Summary: Peter and Henry are brothers, which usually wouldn't be a problem. But as Henry and Peter grow, they start to realise things about themselves and each other that can't be taken back. This is how they explore their true feelings. Warnings: Sexual themes, strong language, incest.


**A/N: **The reason I chose to write this story is because this is a story all about how my life got flipped-turned upside down and I'd like to take a minute just sit right there I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air: in west Philadelphia born and raised on the playground was where I spent most of my days chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all cool and all shootin some b-ball outside of the school when a couple of guys who were up to no good started making trouble in my neighbourhood I got in one little fight and my mom got scared she said "You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air". I whistled for a cab and when it came near the license plate said fresh and it had dice in the mirror if anything I could say that this cab was rare but I thought 'Nah, forget it' - 'Yo, homes to Bel Air' I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8 and I yelled to the cabbie 'Yo homes smell ya later' I looked at my kingdom I was finally there to sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air also I don't own the Fresh Prince of Bel Air or Horrid Henry.

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**Purple Hand and Worm**

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The thing Peter remembered most fondly from his childhood was playing with Henry, when he was five years old. His mother had just got a new job and they had moved into a new, bigger house. She and father put up blue wallpaper with fluffy white clouds and he would pretend he was a bird, spinning around his room with outstretched arms in a way that mimicked wings. Peter spent most days feeling pensive, increasingly losing himself in his imagination, playing alone in the back garden. One day, a shadow fell over his toys, and he looked up to see a boy with a familiar scowl.

"What are you doing, worm?" Henry asked. He always seemed so angry.

"Playing," Peter said, blinking up at the pale boy with messy brown hair.

"Duh," he said, even though he was the one who'd asked. "How old are you?"

"Five years old," Peter responded dubiously.

The boy scoffed. "I'm seven and I'm way more grown up," he said. Peter sat down and stared up at the boy, holding a Barbie in one hand and a T-Rex in the other.

"Do you want to play with me?" he asked, not sure what his brother wanted if not that. Henry gave Peter's toys a once over, snickering when he caught sight of the Barbie.

"Eurgh, you're playing with girls toys!" He exclaimed. Peter blinked.

"No I'm playing with my toys."

Henry vehemently shook his head. "No, Barbie is for girls. You're a girl,"

Peter stared blankly at him for a few seconds, before continuing playing with his toys. Henry sat down with an exaggerated flop to the ground, and watched him play for a while, his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to translate a foreign language. Eventually he tore the T-Rex from Peter's hands and made the big eyed cuddly toy into a mad rampaging dinosaur that ate everyone in town. Peter screeched at the disruptive as he blindly reached to get the toy back, but Henry kept it out of arms reach by pushing Peter's face away.

"Oi, what's going on with you two?" Their mum stepped outside, crossing her arms.

Peter spoke up first. "Henry stole my toy!"

Henry threw it to the ground before she could reprimand him, but she did anyway, saying the usual 'behave's and 'you're older than him's before stalking off again. He screamed and punched the ground, as Peter looked guiltily at him.

"It's not fun if everyone is dead, then they can't play anymore." Peter said, pouting. "And you should not steal."

"Yeah, well, this game is dumb anyway. I don't play with tell-tales," Henry said. He abruptly stood up and kicked at the dirt. He went away and just started spinning around the garden after that and tried to keep balance, laughing louder than he needed to whenever he fell on the ground. He would look over at Peter to check if he was looking, and Peter would jump when he was caught. This continued until Peter conceded and threw his T-Rex over to Henry.

"I'm sorry. Want to play?"

Henry considered, drawing it out by shrugging. "No, that's stupid. Who'd want to play with you?" Peter shrunk back. Satisfied, Henry strutted over with his hands in his pockets. "Have you ever lit fireworks?" he asked.

"No," Peter said, wide eyed.

"I have," Henry said, looking up at the sky wistfully while he grinned with pride.

Peter didn't really know what to say. He picked up his toys and brushed dirt off after Henry absentmindedly kicked some onto them, annoyed that Peter didn't react.

"You're a big dork, worm," Henry said, and Peter glared at him.

"Leave me alone," he said, and Henry stomped off, disappearing through a loose plank in the fence that separated their garden from the street. Peter huffed in annoyance and turned back to his toys, but he couldn't really concentrate on imaginary games for the rest of the day, his heart still beating fast from his encounter with his brother, who he wished had never left.

Peter couldn't remember much of that day but the red leaves, the table, and how he and Henry rolled underneath together. He also couldn't remember Henry smiling like that around him again either.

Henry started showing up around Peter's play time on a regular basis after that, and if he didn't show, Peter would kick around their messy back garden until he emerged from the back door of their house. Henry's games mostly made Peter mad, and he wasn't sure why he bothered playing with him at all. Sometimes they would get in bad fights and avoid each other for weeks. Peter had just started school, but among the other kids Henry ignored Peter, who mostly played house with the girls. They would always fight over which of them got to be Peter's wife before eventually deciding that they would rather have him be the baby. Peter was terrified of them, so he went along with whatever they wanted.

Henry's favourite games were doctor and interrogation. They were both played in the very back of the garden, underneath the rotting old picnic table, which was shaded by a tree with purple leaves that Peter liked to climb when Henry allowed it. Henry was bossy and even mean, but Peter would play with him anyway, to see what sort of mischief Henry was getting into, even after their mother got angry at them for fighting sometimes. Peter didn't know their father very well, he always seemed to be working, but when he was around Peter was always on his best behaviour, and he told him he was a good boy. However, he was a 'bad man,' according to Henry, and he seemed to hate him. Peter didn't have a problem with his dad at all; he assumed Henry was probably just upset that he got in trouble a lot for being bad.

By the time Peter was eight and Henry was ten most of their games dissolved into wrestling matches. Usually Henry won, and on some days Peter wouldn't bother putting up a fight, would just lie there under the picnic table while Henry sat on top of him, threatening to spit into his mouth if he didn't divulge the secrets of whatever government agency Henry's terrorist organization was planning on bringing down.

"Hand over those blueprints," Henry would say, mostly using tickle torture until Peter's eyes were watering, his Henryes aching. Peter would get so angry, trying to push Henry off; mad at himself for thinking that playing with Henry would actually be fun for once. Trying to struggle free was always hopeless, Henry's thighs pinned tightly around Peter's hips and his hands pressing Peter's shoulders down. He always looked frighteningly happy when he had Peter trapped like this, pretending to be his sadistic doctor or ruthless captor.

One day when they were playing interrogation, Henry threatening to shove a beetle that he'd trapped in a glass jar up Peter's nose if he didn't give him the access code to a government computer, the back door banged open and Henry went as rigid as a startled squirrel, turning toward the house.

"Henry!" their father shouted, sounding furious and unwell, stumbling a little as he came out onto the cracked back patio. "Where the hell are you?"

"Don't say a word," Henry whispered, dropping down over Peter, the jar with the beetle rolling away. Henry clamped both hands over Peter's mouth and stared down at him with his eyebrows pinched, as if Peter wanted to be found. Peter was afraid of his father, who was rarely there during the day but never in a good mood when he was.

They stayed like that while Henry's father paced around the patio, ranting and kicking Henry's broken toys out of his way. Henry was breathing hard, his eyes locked on the patio as he crouched low over Peter, hiding from his father. Peter was afraid to even look at the patio, so he kept his eyes on Henry, watching a thin bead of sweat run from his temple down to his chin. Finally, Henry's father banged back inside, muttering a string of curse words that made Peter's heart pound. Henry let out a huff of breath and looked down at Peter, unable to hide the fear in his eyes quickly enough to keep it from him.

"You're lucky dad leaves you alone," Henry said, removing his hands from Peter's mouth but still leaning over him, his back hunched and his elbows in the dirt beside Peter's ears.

"No, I'm not," Peter said. He realized that he could issue a surprise attack and knock Henry off of him, but the game seemed to be over, anyway. They both just laid there for a while, their chests pressing together as they drew panted breath, wind rustling through the purple-leafed tree.

Henry shoved Peter's head into the dirt, hissing, "You almost got me caught you little worm!" and pushed him away as Peter gave a wounded gasp at the sudden pain on the back of his head. The ground wasn't as soft as he thought it was.

"What's your problem, anyway?" Henry asked when he finally sat up. "Why do you just let me beat up on you?"

"Maybe I won't anymore," Peter said, surprised to find that he was hurt by this. Henry scoffed and slid off of him, flicking at the jar with the beetle in it. Peter got up with an indignant sniffle and crawled out from under the picnic table, heading for the loose fence plank without looking back.

For a couple of weeks, Peter didn't go out into the garden, and Henry didn't come to his room. Peter tried to be glad about this, because he didn't miss Henry's tyrannical games or stupid insults, but something about playing by himself wasn't as fun if he hadn't just recently escaped the grip of Henry, feeling like he'd barely made it out with his life. Still, even at eight years old he had pride, and Henry had called him out on something he'd worried about for some time. Why did he play with Henry when he knew Henry was just going to tease and overpower him, eventually dragging him under the picnic table to sit on him while he wore himself out with attempts to get free? Peter decided that he'd just been dumb before, and that he was smarter now.

A few nights after he'd come to this conclusion, Peter was awake in his bed, trying not to be afraid of the shouting from downstairs, and the thunderstorm that he could hear rumbling in the distance, moving closer.

Their arguing had become more common, and Peter eagerly let his mum protect him from the carnage while Henry seemed to want to do nothing but barge in the middle of them. Recently, it felt like the whole household was divided in some way.

Suddenly, he heard his mother yelling as someone… Henry? howled painfully. No, that couldn't have been him. He never heard Henry yell like that before. Peter flinched as he heard his dad's- usually calm-voice boom through the house, and more frantic yelling from mum. He didn't know whether to put his fingers in his ears and hide under his covers or listen, listen so he could know that no one was getting hurt. Even if he wanted to do the latter, however, the thunder and rain roared too loudly.

Then, the whole house felt like it shook when the front door slammed. Peter listened for the slam of the car door, and the tires squealing away as the car's light seeped in through the sides of the curtain over Peter's bedroom, and faded away just as quickly.

Peter lay there for what seemed like hours; hearing nothing but strained silence, save for the thunder which didn't scare him anymore. It wasn't as scary as what he had heard downstairs.

After an indeterminate amount of time, he heard a tapping sound and jumped a little under the blankets, afraid to look at the window which was where the sound had come from. He gasped and pulled his blankets up to his chin when he saw a dark figure crouched outside the window, sitting on the roof of the back porch.

"Open up, dummy," the figure said, and Peter let out his breath when he realized it was only Henry, though couldn't help but be confused. How and why was Henry at his window? He tossed his blankets aside and went to the window, his heart still pounding. When he opened the window he could smell the rain in the air, which hadn't settled. Henry pushed his way inside without waiting for an invitation.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked in a whisper. "We're supposed to be in bed – I'll get in trouble!"

Henry was agitated, breathing hard and pacing around the room. Peter wanted to tell him to get out, but that thing that drew him to Henry despite his better instincts was growing inside his chest, making him curious.

"You didn't hear? Our stupid fucking dad had the police called on him," Henry says. "We just need to lay low here so they don't – take us away or anything."

"What?" Peter said. He went to the window, which was still open, the wind blowing that rain-smell in hard. He could hear voices in the front of their house, and he could see a flash of blue light. When he turned around to gape at Henry in disbelief, he saw that Henry was sitting on the floor with his back to Peter's bed, his knees pulled to his chest and his face buried in his folded arms.

"Who – who called the police on him?" Peter asked, feeling disoriented and nervous. He thought of calling for his mom, but he wouldn't know how she would react to them after whatever happened. He imagined that's why Henry had to scale the side of the house- something he got grounded for for months the last time he tried- so mum couldn't hear him creeping past her bedroom to Peter's. Warmth bloomed inside of Peter's chest at the thought of Henry wanting to get to his room so bad.

"Who do you think?" Henry asked, his voice broken as he lifted his wet face, trying to scowl but only managing a sob. "Mum, our mum. I hate her – and him. They're so worthless." He sobbed and hid his face again.

Peter was dumbstruck. He never, ever thought he would see Henry cry, no matter what happened. He walked slowly across the room, moving with caution, afraid to set Henry off but unwilling to let him sit there crying all by himself. Henry seemed so much smaller than he usually did, curled in on himself as his shoulders shook with sobs.

"It's okay," Peter said softly as he sat down beside Henry.

"No, it's not," Henry cried, the words trembling as he pushed out more tears. Peter scooted closer, patting Henry's back very carefully, afraid that Henry would snap up and tell him to get away. When he didn't, Peter slid his arm around Henry's shoulders, resting his knees against Henry's side. Henry was wearing pyjama pants and his usual black skull t-shirt, and he didn't have any shoes on. Peter shuddered a little at the thought of how scary it must have been, it was bad enough what he managed to hear, but bad enough to involve the police? He hugged Henry to him, and to his surprise, Henry didn't push him away, just leaned down to hide his face against Peter's chest, clutching at him.

"It's okay," Peter said again, because he didn't know what else to say. He pet Henry's hair and hugged him tight, which was what their mum always did when he cried. It seemed to work on Henry, too, his crying quieting to just a few sniffles, and eventually he went quiet, his fist closed in the front of Peter's pyjama top.

"I don't hate mum. But I hate him," Henry said after a while, the thunder outside getting louder if that was even possible. The wind was making the branches on the trees toss wildly, leaves thrashing. Peter began to feel glad that Henry was safe inside with him.

"Stay here, Henry," Peter whispered. "But be quiet."

Henry didn't say anything, just scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. He looked unrecognizable, soft and scared, and though Peter had indulged some fantasies about making Henry cry, giving him a taste of his own bullying medicine, he wasn't enjoying this at all. He went over to shut the window as the rain started blowing inside, pelting the roof of the porch. When he turned back to his bed Henry was climbing into it, turning toward the wall. Peter sighed and climbed in behind him, pulling the blankets up over Henry first, then spreading them over his own legs. He settled down onto his pillow, watching Henry's back as he continued to sniffle and rub at his face.

"Are you okay?" Peter whispered as thunder crashed loudly outside, the kind of thing that would scare him if he wasn't so distracted by the fact that the neighbourhood bully, the school terror, his brother, was crying in his bed.

"Yeah," Henry said, his voice smaller and squeakier than Peter had ever heard it. He rolled over, not looking at Peter, just pressing his face to Peter's chest, worming into his arms. Peter wrapped Henry up tightly, thinking he might cry again, but Henry was quiet, his wet eyelashes tickling the hollow of Peter's throat.

Henry never thanked Peter for letting him stay that night, or for holding him while thunder rattled the windowpanes and rain pelted against the house. Peter stayed awake for a long time, petting Henry's shaggy hair while he slept. He'd always liked the idea of caring for someone who needed saving, being a hero, and he also liked the way the long spikes of Henry's mop of hair felt as they tickled against his palm. He fell asleep with his hand cupped around the back of Henry's head, and woke to the feeling of Henry climbing over him, rubbing his eyes and heading toward the window. Peter turned to watch him go, wondering if he should ask Henry to stay, though he knew that wouldn't be a good idea. Henry stopped when he had one leg on either Henrye of the window and looked back at Peter. He seemed like he wanted to say something, then just looked down at his hands and left without speaking. Peter could hear the wet thump of Henry's feet hitting the bottom of his window pane as he jumped from the roof of the porch.

A couple of weeks later, Peter, Henry, and their mum moved to a new house. Henry didn't talk, didn't even look at him on moving day, and Peter wasn't that worried as he was too preoccupied with making sure he had all his toys, but he did think about him as the car pulled from the driveway for the last time and Henry's head fell forward as he slept, and wondered if Henry would need shelter from another storm ever again now that dad was gone.

He wondered if dad would ever come back. He felt his eyes sting with tears, but he couldn't get upset, he had to be strong for mum and Henry. Only now did Peter start noticing the lines in mum's face, the hysterical edge to her voice as she pretended to be happy, for them. Even Henry kept stoic, though didn't put on a happy persona. He just got angrier.

His eyes still watered, this time over Henry and the pain he wished he could take away.

They were zoned into a new school after the move, even though the new house was only a few streets over from the old one. Making friends wasn't easy; Henry seemed to have been right about Peter being a dork. It didn't take him too long to find the school's other dorks and join their ranks, and soon he had some pretty good buddies among them, guys who were considered weak or babyish by the cool kids who used curse words and held hands with girls.

Peter didn't care much about being cool, though sometimes he and his friends pretended they were, cursing and trying to act tough around each other. This charade usually ended when one of the cool boys walked by and smashed the offending dork into a wall before strolling causally away. AHenrye from these social complications, Peter liked school, especially math and history. He loved English, and science could go either way. In fifth grade he decided he wanted to be a geologist and started collecting cool rocks. His friend Tim showed him how to play Dungeons and Dragons, and his friend Paul helped him make a skateboarding ramp. Life was pretty good.

Secondary school changed everything. Suddenly their school was three times the size of their elementary school, with three sets of elementary kids all dumped together, the firmly established social hierarchy completely screwed up. Tim almost immediately got a girlfriend, a dorky girl who drew pictures of colourful girls with insanely big shiny eyes and crazy hair, and this horrified Peter, who still had no interest in girls. Paul somehow got cool over the summer and was suddenly smoking cigarettes with his older brother, rolling his eyes at Peter when Peter wanted to pretend they were pro skateboarders who were competing for the world championship. It was like everyone was suddenly infected with a disease that made them try to act older. Tim was talking about first base and second base in a way that didn't relate to baseball, and Paul wasn't talking to Peter at all.

Peter refused to take part in his former friends' attempts to seem cool. It was dumb, and pointless, because Year 8 still laughed at them and called them babies on the school bus. On Mufti day, Peter decided to rebel by wearing one of his faded old Action Man t-shirts. He hoped that some of the kids would get a kick out of it and remember what it was like when they weren't pretending to be grown-up all the time.

His masterful shirt plan didn't really work out. Instead, it made him a target at the bus stop and again in the hallways at school, girls laughing loud and boys shoving his shoulders and asking him if he was five years old. Peter was on the verge of calling home sick as he headed for the boys' bathroom after break, and when someone grabbed his t-shirt and yanked him backward, he knew he was in for more humiliation at best, a beating at worst.

The last thing he expected when he turned and raised his red-rimmed eyes was Henry. Peter's mouth fell open, and goosebumps rose all over his body. Just looking at Henry made his stomach feel heavier, like Henry was sitting on it the way he always used to. Henry laughed, shaking his head.

"Gimme that," Henry said, grabbing Peter's bookbag.

"Don't," Peter said lamely, knowing that he couldn't stop Henry from doing whatever he wanted. Henry had gotten bigger and taller since the last time Peter saw him, and his eyes were just as mean as they'd always been as he threw Peter's bookbag to the ground and grabbed the hem of his shirt.

"Hey – don't!" Peter said, struggling feebly as Henry pulled his shirt off. Peter moaned and crossed his arms over his naked chest, his bottom lip trembling. Everyone else had filed into their classrooms and the hall was empty, but if Henry made him go back to class with no shirt, the laughter would never stop.

"Here, dummy," Henry said, turning the t-shirt inside out. "Lift up your arms."

Peter hesitated, then did as Henry asked when he narrowed his eyes. Henry slipped the t-shirt back on him, the frowning Action Man hidden on the inside now. Peter was relieved for a moment, but he sucked in his breath when Henry pulled a knife from his back pocket and flipped it open.

"You need to develop some basic survival skills or you'll be dead by half-term," Henry said. He turned Peter around and used the knife to saw off the tag that was poking up against Peter's neck.

"Everyone's going to know I just turned my shirt inside out," Peter said, his face burning red when Henry turned him around to face him again. "It's like they won or something."

"Big deal," Henry said. "If you think you're winning by wearing this, then you're dumber than I thought."

"I hate you," Peter said softly, but it didn't feel true, and only made his face burn hotter. Henry grinned, still holding Peter by the shoulders. He was wearing braces, and his hair had gotten messier. Now that he thought about it, his hair seemed darker than Peter remembered.

"You're the dumb one, you're still in Year 8." Peter said, taking his bookbag when Henry handed it to him.

"Yep," Henry said proudly. "For the second year in a row."

Peter huffed, imagining that Henry had gotten himself held back just so he could torment Peter. This was only Peter's third week at school, and things just kept getting worse. Except that, in a strange way, he was kind of glad to have Henry around. He wondered if Henry smoked cigarettes and had girlfriends. Probably. He'd always liked lighting things on fire, and he'd gotten kind of good-looking, the sort of boy who girls would have crushes on. Of course Henry's mischief and troublemaking had gotten him friends, being good never gets you anywhere.

"Do you want survival lessons?" Henry asked as the bell rang, warning students to get into their classrooms.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked, though was pretty sure he understood what Henry was offering. It was embarrassing, and stupid, but Peter had been lonely since he lost his friends to coolness.

"I'll be at Pizza Hut after school," Henry said. "Come with if you want to learn how to not act like a loser."

Later that night, Henry slapped his forehead and gave Peter his first pro tip: don't show up at Pizza hut with your mum.

With Henry on his side, middle school got better. Henry showed Peter to loosen his tie, straighten or gel his hair and untuck his shirt, and told him not to always put his hand up during class. The crowd Henry hung out with was mostly comprised of Year 9's and 10's who were way too cool for Peter, but they tolerated Peter because Henry vouched for him. Peter wondered all the time why Henry was being nice to him, and all he could come up with was that Henry was still secretly grateful for that night when Peter let him sleep in his bed. When Peter thought about it he got that heavy feeling in his stomach, the same one he got when he watched Henry blow smoke rings. Henry smoked cigarettes, but he didn't have a girlfriend, though one of the girls who hung in their crowd seemed to want him to ask her out. Her name was Jill, and she wore dark eyeliner that made Peter nervous.

"Do you like Jill?" Peter asked one day when he was walking home from school with Henry. Apparently the bus was for losers.

"No. She reminds me of moody Margaret. D'ya remember her?" Henry said without hesitation, and Peter had to chew away a smile. He was glad.

Henry was still a jerk. He made fun of Peter for not knowing anything about music, and made Peter come into his room (which was nearly always strictly forbidden) after school to play songs on his iPod for him. He showed Peter how to download music for free, and impressed him by finding downloads of movies that had just been released.

"Isn't this stealing?" Peter said one afternoon when they were lying on their stomachs on Henry's bed, watching the newest James Bond movie on Henry's laptop. Henry just laughed. Peter had learned when to drop certain subjects, and he put his chin on his folded arms, feeling guilty as he watched James Bond jump off an exploding yacht.

"When you're ready, I can show you how to download porn," Henry said after they'd both moved up to year 8 and 9 respectively, Henry barely passing and Peter on the gifted and talented list.

"Gross," Peter muttered. There were jokes about porn told at school, but even the jokes made Peter feel queasy.

"I knew you weren't ready," Henry said. They were walking home from school, Henry twirling his lighter between his fingers like a magician, waiting until they'd gotten far enough from the main road to light a cigarette. "Come on, even worms like you wank off."

"Shut up!" Peter said. He did, actually, but this was a very recent development and he didn't want to discuss it with Henry.

Year 8 was better than 7, the social hierarchy re-established. Peter was still friends with Tim, but Paul was long lost to them, a druggie who hung out with chavs by the park. Tim had broken up with his girlfriend and gained about twenty pounds. He was usually pretty depressed and annoying during their D&D games.

"Why do you hang out with Henry? No offense, but he's a loser." Tim asked Peter one night when Peter was spending the night at Tim's house, in a sleeping bag on the floor of Tim's bedroom. It was an old sleeping bag with Transformers on it, but Tim would never make fun of Peter for such a thing.

"Henry's not a loser," Peter said, though he knew this wasn't true. Henry smoked, which was stupid, and he didn't care about school, which was going to cost him. He argued daily with their mother now, their dad long gone after several failed meet ups. His room was dark and never clean. At school, Henry outranked both Peter and Tim, but in the real world, Henry was on the track to loser-hood.

"He's a freak," Tim said. "He's always setting stuff on fire, and Jake Vale told me that he told his math teacher to fuck off and got suspended for two days. Is that true?"

"Yeah." Peter admitted, but felt defensive of Henry. The math teacher was mean to him; she made fun of him for not being bad at math, which made the smart kids titter with laughter, which made Henry want to burn the whole school down. The walk home from school hadn't been pleasant that day.

"And he bullies people, including me. I know you're brothers, but you're like completely different. How're you so close?" Tim asked, and Peter smiled a little in the darkness, because Tim sounded kind of jealous. Peter was officially cooler than Tim now, mostly because of Henry, but also because Tim had bad acne and Peter's face was still clear.

"Well, like you said… we're brothers." Peter said.

"Well, everyone's going to think you're a freak, too, if you keep hanging around with him."

"I don't care," Peter said. "Good."

It worried him, though, and sometimes Henry didn't seem to fit into his life at all, unless it was just the two of them, alone together in Henry's room after school, staring at the glow of Henry's laptop. Henry stole almost everything he owned, laptop included, and Peter got itchy when he thought about it, feeling bad for the victims of Henry's thefts. Peter was in the science club and played on a rec basketball team, and Henry rolled his eyes when Peter talked about extracurricular activities of any kind. Peter still liked to play make believe, with his D&D friends and sometimes just in his own head. Henry had never liked that, unless their games involved him pinning Peter to the ground and laughing evilly.

"Remember when we used to play doctor?" Peter asked one afternoon when they were in the comforting dark of Henry's room, the shades pulled while Henry scrolled through Youtube videos of people setting off homemade bombs.

"Yeah," Henry said, muttering, his eyes still on the screen. Peter rolled onto his side and tucked his hand under his cheek, bored by the videos and tired from school. He shut his eyes and marvelled at the fact that he was sitting here so comfortably with his childhood tormentor, who had somehow become his best friend. He fell asleep thinking about those old games of doctor, when Henry would make him do the breath-holding test and the pain threshold test, which involved Henry flipping Peter onto his stomach and twisting his arms behind his back until he screamed. When he opened his eyes Henry was staring at him, his eyelids lowered like a calculating Bond villain. He was pulling at his bottom lip, seemingly lost in thought, and he started a little when he realized that Peter was awake.

"You fell asleep, stupid," Henry said, turning back to his laptop, which had faded to the screensaver.

In year 9, the gap between Henry and Peter widened. Peter was less scrawny and awkward than he'd been the year before, and was starting to get attention from girls. He also had more friends, boys from his basketball team who were training hard with hopes of beating other schools. His grades were good, and he liked watching TV and eating ice cream with his mum on Friday nights. Henry had started getting stoned with Paul's crowd on Friday nights.

By half-term, Peter had stopped walking home from school with Henry, instead taking the bus, where he and his friends ruled, occupying the seats at the back and laughing about whatever had happened during the school day. Peter had agreed to go out with a girl named Katrina who was pretty, but he was afraid of her and stammered whenever they were alone together, coming nowhere close to kissing her. The only fun part about having a girlfriend was holding her hand while everybody waited to go to the buses at the end of the day. It made Peter feel envied and cool, and he liked not having to come up with things to say to her; they could just laugh along with their friends.

A couple of days before Christmas, Peter woke up early and padded downstairs in his pyjamas to play video games, snow falling outside and the house cosy with heat. He heard voices in the foyer and figured his mother was talking to a repairman or something. When he came to the bottom of the stairs he started to skirt past his mother and the guy she was talking to, and stopped in his tracks when he realized they'd both gone silent and were staring at him. He turned toward them, an eerie sense of semi-recognition passing through him.

"Peter," the man said, and that's when Peter realized it was his father.

They had an awkward conversation, standing there in the foyer. How was school? Fine. Was he playing any sports? Yes, basketball. Did he still have that dinosaur toy that he'd loved so much? Yes. Rexy had been a gift from his father, the last birthday present Peter got from him. As they talked, Peter's mother stood beside him stiffly. Peter could tell that she was mad, that his father wasn't supposed to be here, but that she didn't want to say so in front of Peter.

While his father let him finally let him free, he wondered where Henry was and how he'd react to this, as he sneaked up to his room and dressed in his coat and boots, pulling on a hat and scarf. He had to get away before his mother cornered him and made him talk about his feelings or something. He had to find Henry before he found out he was here. His heart had been slamming since he realized that the man downstairs was his father, and he felt like he might throw up as he wondered what this sudden re-emergence meant, if he would have to visit that man on the weekends, if he would have to pretend to love that deeply angry who'd hurt them, mum and Henry most of all. He climbed out the window and landed in the garden as quietly as he could, muffled by the snow.

He had tears frozen in the corners of his eyes by the time he got to Ralph's house, snot under his nose. No one ever came to the door at Ralph's house, so Peter didn't bother knocking. He got the key out from under the front mat and let himself in, creeping up the stairs to Ralph's room as quietly as he could. They hadn't even spoken that much to each other in over a month, but Peter figured Henry owed him one.

"Henry?" he whispered as he pushed into Ralph's room. Ralph was in the bed, turned toward the wall under a pile of blankets, fast asleep as Henry played on the Xbox by himself. Peter shut the door behind him and wiped his nose and eyes on his gloves, pulling them off along with his boots, coat, and scarf. He left his knit hat on as he padded over to the bed, still wearing his pyjamas and not even caring.

"Hey, Henry. Henry, we need to talk." Peter whispered, pulling on Henry's shoulder. Henry turned to the side and glared at him, making Peter regret his decision to come for a moment. His face softened when his eyes focused on Peter, then hardened again. Peter hiccupped a sob and Henry sighed.

"What the hell is this?" Henry said.

"Dad," Peter said. Henry's eyes widened, standing up as if he didn't need to hear any more, throwing the controller to the side.

"What?" Henry stood there for a second or two, in shock, before shaking his head. "W-where is he?"

"Talking to mum."

Henry's face turned red with anger. "And she hasn't turned him away?"

"She didn't seem too pleased, maybe he's not even there anymore…" Peter said, trying to placate Henry as much as possible. Henry seemed to make a decision then, as he grabbed Peter's arm and dragged him out of the room.

"W-what about Ralph?"

"What about him." Henry said, not even taking on that sneering tone he had when he was angry. He just sounded cold, stoic. Peter didn't say anything else as he let Henry drag him away, his heart pounding as he thought of Henry colliding with their dad.

They walked for what felt like hours, until they came to the front of the house and saw in plain view the back of their father as he sat at the kitchen table with their mother, who stiffly sat and glared at him. Henry froze as he stared, barely moving. If it weren't for the occasional white puff coming out of his mouth, Peter would've thought he weren't breathing.

"Round the back." Henry said.

He didn't need to explain as they both went to the small back garden, scaling the tree near their house with ease as they slipped through Peter's open window, creeping in silently.

They listened for their parents, but couldn't hear anything downstairs. Not even the low murmur of conversation, but then again Henry blasting up porn on his laptop always went undetected so they probably just couldn't hear them.

Peter turned to Henry to put his hand on him arm, but he found Henry had already escaped his grasp, going out of his room to his own. He stood there for a minute, wondering if he should leave him alone, and usually he would, but this time he needed Henry. And he knew that Henry needed him.

Creeping silently out of his room, he went to his brother's and to his relief it wasn't locked. He cautiously went into the darkness, the blinds closed and no lights on, only Henry's silhouette outlined by the little light there was. Henry wasn't looking at him.

Peter let his face pinch up with tears as he fearlessly climbed under the blankets, the heat trapped underneath them making him think of hibernation, bears sleeping through winter. These were the same unclean sheets that Peter had spent hours on after school, and the slightly dank smell of them was a tremendous comfort as Peter hid his face against Henry's chest and cried hard, ready to turn his whole bloody heart over to Henry as, to his surprise, Henry's arms wrapped around him.

"He just s-showed up like I'm supposed to – " Peter choked out before breaking into tears again. Henry put one hand on the back of Peter's head, his other arm tight around Peter's waist.

"Fuck 'em," Henry said. "Few more years and we can forget they ever existed."

"I'm sorry I-" Peter gasped. "I had to let you know. I-I shouldn't even be like this, you were the one who was hurt by him. I'm so sorry, I wish it had been me, I wish it was me." He felt Henry grow stiff, but he still held onto him. They hadn't ever talked about dad, or what he did to Henry. Peter still didn't know the full extent of what happened, if it was a repeated thing or what. All he knew was that Henry was hurt by him, and to Peter, that made that man a monster. Henry relaxed against him eventually, squeezing him closer.

"Calm down," Henry said, his thumb moving on the back of Peter's head. "You're alright."

"And I miss you," Peter cried, everything pouring out of him, liquefied. Henry laughed.

"Jesus, Peter, we live together." he said.

Peter stopped talking then, humiliated by that admission and by his crying. Sure, Henry had done this once, but they'd been much younger then. Peter couldn't imagine Henry crying now. He sniffled and squirmed closer, pushing his leg through Henry's, which were bare. Henry was in boxers and a t-shirt, and Peter tried not to think about how good and warm and solid he felt, but it was impossible. He closed his eyes and let out his breath against Henry's shirt, which was damp from his tears.

He didn't mean to fall asleep, but he was so comfortable, and Henry's heartbeat seemed to pull him under. When he opened his eyes they were crusty with salt, his eyelashes stuck together. Henry seemed wide awake, and he shifted back a little as Peter rubbed his eyes clear.

"What time is it?" Peter asked. It was still dark in Henry's room, only a faint grayish glow coming from behind his closed blinds.

"Almost noon," Henry said.

"Shit." Peter sat up. Their mum might still be down there with him. Or… his father would feel rejected, and Peter knew he shouldn't care about that, but he did. "We... we have to go downstairs. Well, you don't have to, but I'm worried about mum."

"He's gone." Henry said simply. Peter breathed a sigh of relief, though that slight bit of guilt ebbed on his mind. His dad looked ever so pathetic at their doorstep, something about his eyes were desperate.

"I guess… I should go back to my room then."

Henry didn't say anything. Peter slipped out from under the blankets, shivering as he rubbed his arms. He looked back at Henry, who was watching him from the bed.

"Thanks," Peter said, blushing.

"For what? I didn't do anything."

Peter rolled his eyes. He stood there in the middle of the room for a few seconds, staring at his shoes.

"I guess I'll see you later," he said when he could think of nothing else.

"Whatever," Henry said, rolling back toward the wall. Peter wanted to yell at him, to make him not act like this, but he knew Henry was never going to change.

"Worm." He thought he heard, as he stepped out of the room.

No, it was too soft and gentle. He didn't hear anything.

He thought of Henry under the blankets in his bed and wondered if he'd gone back to sleep. He could only imagine him lying there, scowling at the ceiling. Peter wanted to go back, but he didn't know what he would do or say if he did, so he just flopped onto his bed, closing his eyes when the wind pushed against him, snow blowing from the window he forgot to close like pieces of shattered crystal.

As soon as Christmas was over, their father disappeared again. Peter wrote him a few letters that went unanswered, but Henry didn't bother. Though he was nicer than usual to their mum for a while, and even tried to be polite to her boyfriend, a douchebag real estate agent named Steve. Spring and summer came by quickly, making way for a dismal autumn, contact between Henry and Peter still occasional and mostly at home.

School started up again, and since they nearly always left at different times, Peter went to wait for Henry in their usual place instead of going to the bus stop. When Henry didn't show, Peter figured he'd just missed him, or maybe Henry was cutting class. He walked to school alone, kicking at the dirty snow. He'd spent a lot of time thinking about Henry over winter break, because even that was easier than thinking about his father. At night, in bed, he pretended that Henry was there with him, under the blankets. At morning, when they ate breakfast together, Henry scowling and sometimes kicking him under the table before getting told off, Peter cherished those moments, however much he hated them when they were younger.

As soon as he returned to school, these feelings stuck out as dangerous and frightening, and Peter tried to get rid of them. He didn't wait for Henry again, taking the bus instead, and he tried kissing Katrina for the first time. It was awkward and weird, and when he reached into his pyjama bottoms at night he didn't think about her, or any girls. He thought about the weight of Henry on top of him, how he'd seemed like the heaviest thing in the world when they were kids, and the way Henry's eyes darkened when he smiled. Henry's name was always on his lips as he finished, but as soon as he was done he would feel shocked and guilty and weird, becoming determined not to let himself think about his own brother that way ever again.

Year 10 seemed to grow more serious as everyone prepared for college, and Peter broke up with Katrina around springtime, when he decided he needed to spend more time practicing his basketball. None of the girls in his form room would talk to him for a while, but he didn't really care. It was a relief when Katrina started dating someone else and everybody seemed to forget that she'd ever been with Peter.

He saw Henry in the halls sometimes, usually hanging out with his druggie friends, smirking like he was the only who knew that none of this mattered. Peter's chest tightened whenever their eyes met, and he began to wonder if he was a jerk for avoiding Henry, or if Henry really didn't care. He certainly didn't act like he did, his eyes passing over Peter easily in the halls at school.

When summer finally came, it was a relief to be away from school. Peter spent most of his free time with his friend Brian, who was obsessed with basketball, and with Tim, who was obsessed with anime pornography. He ended up being the one who showed Peter how to find it on the internet. Most of it made Peter feel vaguely sick to his stomach, and he avoided it until he felt desperate to get off on something that didn't involve Henry, that picnic table, the smell of dirt and the sound of those purple leaves rustling.

He was riding his bike by himself one day when he ran into Henry, who was wandering around aimlessly, looking stoned. He grinned when he saw Peter, then jumped out in front of him so he'd have to brake hard on his bike.

"What's up, worm?" Henry asked. His eyes were red and he looked pretty out of it. "Enjoying your summer?"

"Yeah," Peter said, narrowing his eyes at Henry. "What's wrong with you?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing, I was just smoking with Jimmy Wills."

"Jimmy Wills doesn't go to school..."

"Yeah? So? You know I was always mature for my age." Henry grinned, winking as Peter recoiled.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, blushing.

"Nothing, man, forget it." Henry walked over and sat on top of a sewer cover, rubbing at his eyes, yawning. Peter knew he should ride away, but he never wanted to get away from Henry, and would probably never figure out why. He dropped his bike into the grass and sat beside Henry, not looking at him. They both stared at the house across the street.

"You shouldn't be smoking with Jimmy. What if mum catches you like this?" Peter asked wearily, knowing that Henry would just laugh at him. One of Henry's sneakers was untied, and Peter wanted badly to kneel down and tie it so he wouldn't trip. Henry moaned and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Jimmy's a prick," Henry muttered, and something about this statement made Peter laugh. Henry grinned at him like he was glad he'd gotten the joke.

"All of my friends are pricks," Peter said, maybe just trying to impress Henry, though he had been thinking about this all summer. "My friend Brian, he thinks he's Kobe Bryant or something, he's so full of himself. Every time I outplay him he acts like it was just a lucky shot, and then he won't look me in the eye until he's taken the ball from me. And Tim, God, Tim is a disaster. He doesn't know anything about sex but he's always talking about it like he does, he's so gross."

Henry laughed, letting his shoulder slump against Peter's, which made Peter sit up straighter, though he didn't move away. Henry was a disaster, too, but there was something more honest about him than any of the other guys Peter knew.

"Nobody wants to play your innocent little games, is that it, Peter?" Henry said. "Shit, you're a real piece of work. Nobody's good enough for perfect Peter."

"Fuck you, that's not what I meant."

"I got a game for you, Peter, you want to play a game?"

"What?" Peter asked, his heart pounding. He could smell Henry's sweat, and feel the heat of his skin through the shoulder of his t-shirt. Pathetically, this was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in months.

"It's called gay chicken," Henry said.

"What the hell is gay chicken?" Peter asked, still so far away from applying that word to himself that his guard wasn't up yet. He was fixating on the 'chicken' element, imagining that stupid dance that people did at weddings.

"It's where we act like we're going to kiss each other, and whoever balks first loses," Henry said.

"That's stupid," Peter said. He stared down at his hands.

"You're just saying that 'cause you know you'd lose, 'cause you're an innocent little flower."

"I am not!" Peter scowled at him, half-ready to tell Henry that he jerked off almost every night now.

"Then let's go," Henry said, his face already close to Peter's. "Let's play."

"Fine," Peter said, his hands curling into fists. The street was quiet and empty, a sprinkler running in the yard across from them. Henry's eyes were boring into Peter's like this was a staring contest, too. Peter didn't let himself blink.

"Ready?" Henry said, moving closer. Peter nodded, staring at Henry's lips, determined not to lose. He moved closer at the same rate that Henry did, both of them checking each other's eyes before looking down at each other's lips again. Henry licked his lips and Peter did the same. He could feel Henry's breath, hot against his mouth, then Henry's wet lips were pressing against his, firm and unafraid. Peter pressed back, pinching his eyes shut, his hands closed tightly over his knees. Henry licked Peter's bottom lip, his tongue stroking against the tip of Peter's when Peter's mouth opened around a shocked little gasp. They pulled back, not far enough, and looked at each other. Henry seemed as stunned as Peter, his eyes suddenly wide and clear.

"I guess we both won," Henry said. Peter nodded slowly. His lips were buzzing. He wanted Henry to kiss him again. They sat there for a while, fidgeting as the sun beat down on them and the shame washed in. Neither looked at the other.

"H-Henry I-"

"What? It was just a game." Henry said quickly. Peter looked at his brother, scared and tentative as he watched Henry draw in on himself, closing off like he was so good at doing.

No. He couldn't do this, not after something like that.

"Want to go to the pool?" Peter asked, desperate to stay close to him. To his relief, Henry smirked.

"No," he said. "Want to go back to my room and make out?"

"No!" Peter said, shocked.

They ended up doing both, the pool first, wrestling each other for a plastic football in the shallow end, then walking to the house in silence, the sun drying them as they went, their towels hanging around their shoulders. The house was empty when they got there, and Peter was shaking by the time Henry shut his bedroom door.

"It's okay," Henry said, and it was, because Henry held his face while they kissed, backing off when Peter got nervous about how hard they were kissing, and how hard he was inside his bathing suit. All he could think as Henry licked into him was this shouldn't be happening this shouldn't be happening this shouldnt be happeningthisshouldntbehappening but they quickly flowed into this is the best thing that's ever happened to me, right now, the best thing, nothing will ever be better than this. His chest was fluttery with nerves and he had a death grip on Henry's sharp hipbones, just over the waistband of his bathing suit.

"What do you want to do?" Henry asked as they caught their breath. His hands slid down to Peter's shoulders, squeezing over his sunburn.

"Would you s-sit on me?" Peter asked, and Henry grinned.

Peter spent the rest of the afternoon stretched out on his back in Henry's bed, Henry sitting on his hips and leaning down to kiss him. It was like they'd been practicing for this all along. Maybe Henry knew that the whole time, but Peter didn't, though it was hard to believe now that he seemed to have found exactly where he belonged: pinned under Henry, his head framed by Henry's elbows, Henry's hands in his hair, tongue in his mouth, belly pressed flat to Peter's. Peter pretended not to notice when Henry came inside his bathing suit, his whole body going tense and then incredibly loose above Peter's, his breath ragged. Peter hugged Henry's shoulders as he went limp and wondered if Henry had only been pretending not to notice when Peter did the same thing.

In school, they had to avoid each other or risk being found out. There was no reason for them to run in the same social circles, and Peter was sure that people would see it on their faces if they sat together in the lunch room, Peter swooning toward Henry without noticing and Henry looking at Peter in that way that made him swoon, like he was going to eat Peter for dessert. After school, when Peter was finished with basketball practice and Henry with rugby, something Peter had convinced him to join so that they'd at least have sports in common, they would go home and pretend they were playing on the Xbox together. She seemed to know that something was up, but Peter's grades were good and he wasn't coming home stoned like Henry sometimes did, so she didn't complain. Peter shook with anxiety at the thought of her finding out, she'd probably scream at them, kick them out, or sob and wonder where she went wrong. He couldn't stand the thought. They were both ashamed enough as it was, so keeping it hidden was an unspoken rule.

Henry's room was Peter's favourite place in the world, his guiltiest pleasure. Most days they were freshly showered after their respective practices, but sometimes they'd show up still sweaty, just to make what they in Henry's bed even dirtier. Peter was usually wound pretty tight during the day, especially as school went on and college started getting talked about, the final exams looming and basketball intensifying, but when he was lying under Henry he was bonelessly relaxed, reduced to pants and whimpers, happy to be held down. He gave Henry his virginity during year 10, there in Henry's bedroom on a hot Saturday afternoon, the blinds closed against the sun. It didn't even occur to Peter until Henry was inside him that Henry was losing his, too, clinging to Peter so hard that his arms shook.

"Feel different?" Henry asked when they were lying together afterward. It was an unremarkable afternoon in every other sense, not prom night or Peter's birthday or anything special. Peter wasn't sure what had made this the day, except that he'd wanted it for a while and couldn't wait any longer.

"Yeah," Peter said. "Kind of. Do you?"

Henry just shrugged and smiled. He looked happy, which was becoming pretty rare outside of that bed. He'd quit the rugby team because they had the nerve to ask him to get up at seven in the morning on weekends for competitions, and he was flunking most of his classes, still technically a year 11 despite the fact that he was seventeen. He talked about quitting school all the time, and Peter begged him not to. Mum seemed to have given up. He didn't want to lose the only thing they had in common away from the afternoons in bed. He didn't want Henry to fail in life.

"So where are you going for college?" Henry asked him one night. They were on their way home from Pizza Hut, which was still their favourite restaurant in town, mostly because of the arcade. Henry was driving, lighting a cigarette while they were stopped at a red light. Peter looked up from his attempts to find a decent song on the radio.

"Somewhere close to home," he said.

"Why?" Henry asked with a scoff. Peter glared at him.

"Not 'cause of you," he said, though he knew Henry would recognize the lie. "Mum – she still needs help around the house with stuff."

"Like what?"

"Like – moving heavy furniture. I don't know – I – why do you care where I go to college?"

"'Cause I'd kind of like to spend the rest of my life fucking you, if you don't mind too much," Henry said, muttering. Peter stared. It was by far the most romantic thing Henry had ever said to him.

They went back to Henry's house, walking past their mum on their way upstairs. She was watching her daytime shows on the couch as usual. Peter always wondered how much she knew about them; probably nothing, but she'd caught Peter sneaking out the door a few times and had given him slightly curious looks. If Peter talked about his worries Henry would hiss at him, not wanting to hear about his mum. Peter was actually quite confused, Henry always seemed to not care what mum thought of him, so it was odd that out of the two of them- Henry seemed to be even more ashamed, and a little disgusted.

"Can't tell me you don't want to ride this dick for the rest of your life," Henry said when they were closed inside his room, Peter bouncing on Henry's lap, his head thrown back and his dick hard in Henry's hand. Peter laughed and then groaned, slamming himself down harder, their skin slapping together. Henry certainly didn't seem too disgusting when they were doing this.

"Yeah," he said, letting his head roll back onto Henry's shoulder. "Every night. Every day. God, fuck, feels so good."

"That's fuckin' right," Henry said, sounding proud of himself, and also weirdly tender. His hand moved on Peter's cock in a maddeningly slow pace, like he was trying to draw the moment out. Peter rode him harder in response, grunting with every downward thrust, until Henry got fed up with not being in control and pushed him forward, onto his hands and knees.

"Beg for it," Henry said, pulling out almost all the way, holding Peter open with just the fat head of his cock. Peter shouted in frustration, thinking of their interrogation games, Henry's talent for torture.

"Need it, please," he said softly, humiliated, his head dropping between his shoulders and his ass clenching around Henry's cock, trying to pull him back in. "Please, Henry, please."

"That's a good boy," Henry said, rubbing the small of Peter's back and pushing in slow, too slow. Peter tried to ram himself backward and Henry grabbed his hips, holding him still. "Steady, little cockslut," he said, and Peter's hands fisted Henry's sheets. His whole body throbbed with hot embarrassment, and it felt painfully good, being at Henry's mercy, like always. He put his forehead against the mattress and went still, submitting.

"What are you gonna do when you're off at college, huh?" Henry asked, dragging his cock in and out of Peter slowly, teasing him. "How are you gonna get through the days without me around to fuck your greedy ass? Gonna let some other college boys fuck you?"

"No." Peter said, the word sticking hard in his chest, because it was true and he knew it. "Nobody – no one but you, you –"

"Say it. I own this ass, don't I?"

"Yes, you do, please, please –"

"You want me to fuck this ass like I own it?"

"Yeah, oh, please – ahh!"

Henry gave him what he wanted then, fucking Peter so hard that he slid forward on the bed, biting the blankets to muffle his screams. He didn't even need to jerk his cock to get off; Henry found his prostate and slammed against it with the head of his cock until Peter was reduced to a gibbering mess of nerves, flopping down onto the bed when he came. Henry wasn't far behind, dumping himself down onto Peter's back and burying his long, low groan against Peter's shoulder as he pumped him full.

They stayed like that for a while afterward, something they normally didn't do. Henry didn't even pull out, just licked at the back of Peter's neck like Peter was his sated mate. Peter laughed at the thought and Henry sighed against his skin.

"When we were kids you were always the best part of my day," Henry said. "And I couldn't figure out why."

"Figured it out yet?" Peter asked, half-asleep against the mattress.

"Not really," Henry said, and Peter laughed. He knew that Henry got something different from this than what he gave to Peter. For Henry, Peter represented hope, some sort of better life that lived on the other side of a tall fence. To Peter, Henry was someone he wanted to rescue, tied to the train tracks of a life that was leading nowhere. He had nightmares all the time that he couldn't get there in time to cut Henry loose.

Peter's last year was a train wreck. Henry didn't bother applying to college, having failed his GCSEs. They had a fight about it, and Henry told Peter to stay out of his fucking business. Peter called Henry a loser, telling him he was going nowhere to his face for the first time ever, and actually thought Henry was going to hit him for a minute, actually kind of wanted him to. Henry just smirked like he didn't give a shit and walked off, lighting a cigarette. Peter went back to his room and cried into his pillow until his mother came in and rubbed his back, her voice wavering as she begged him to tell her what was wrong.

"I guess I'm gay or whatever," Peter said, speaking into his pillow, sobbing again once the words were out. His mother just kept stroking his back, and he was afraid to turn and look her in the eyes.

"I know, baby," she said softly. "It's okay."

"You – what?" Peter spun around, giving her a betrayed look. "How could you –"

"You're too cute not to have a girlfriend, Peter." His mother smiled and brushed his tears from his cheeks, making him feel five years old. "I'm guessing you have a secret boyfriend?"

"He's not – I," Peter stuttered, trying to derail this conversation. He got one truth out of the way, but incest was a whole other thing. He couldn't be bothered to feel shameful anymore, at least not by himself, but whenever he was with his mum he couldn't help but feel that fear, that paranoia sneaking up on him. But with Henry, in public or in private, in bed or at the breakfast table playing footsie, he felt no shame, no fear, no pain. Nothing but happiness as Henry looked at him in that way he loved so much. His face pinched up with tears again but he fought them away. "He broke up with me," Peter said, wishing he wasn't having this conversation with his mother, but there was no one else he could talk to about this. "I think."

"Oh?" His mother looked like she was trying to decide whether or not to be worried. "Well – you'll be graduating soon, going off to college. Maybe it's for the best? Who is this guy, anyway? He better be your age."

"He's – he's nobody. A high school drop-out, as of today. He's got no morals, no goals, no scruples. He's a thief, and a pothead." The tears welled up in Peter's chest again, but he stuffed them back down. "And I love him. Which is stupid, I know."

"Whoa," Peter's mother said, sitting back for a moment, her eyebrows raised. She took a deep breath and slid her arm around Peter's shoulders. "Peter – oh. I hate that you've been going through all this alone. You know – you know I met your father when I was in school, right?"

"Yeah, I know." Peter sniffled, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand.

"It's – not a great time to fall in love, generally. You're still figuring things out, and it's all very exciting, but that can cloud your better judgment. I'll always be glad that I loved your father, because he gave me you and Henry, even if he is a pain in the backside, but I wish I had been smarter about who I gave my heart to. Just – be careful, baby. It's good that you recognize this guy's – shortcomings. You're smarter than I was at your age. It's probably a good thing that you broke up, even though it hurts. Now you can focus on your college applications and your classes, your basketball, all the other things that are important to you. Right?"

"Right," Peter said miserably. "And, uh, don't tell Henry. Please." _Please don't let him know I told you this much._

His mum smiled in total understanding. "He may be your brother Peter, but this is your business. I know how close you two have come to be, in your own ways, so whether you tell him or not… it's up to you."

He put on a happy face for his mother so that she'd leave him alone, then put his face in his pillow again, wincing at everything he'd just revealed, every shitty thing he said to Henry. He tried to convince himself that his mother was right, but he couldn't imagine his life without Henry, those afternoons in his bed, panting and sweating and collapsing together, the way that Henry held him loosely while he dozed. But if it was all about sex, it was better to end it now. Still, Peter felt like there was a throbbing hole in his chest, and he wanted to grovel at Henry's feet and beg forgiveness, but he was afraid Henry would just sneer and dismiss him.

It wasn't hard to avoid Henry now that he wasn't at school, and Peter did everything he could to stop thinking about him, but he couldn't. He missed Henry so much that it was like a weight he was always dragging behind him, making him feel slow and hopeless. Even at home it was like Henry wasn't even there. He stopped calling his other friends and started spending all his time at home, alternating between studying and staring listlessly at porn on his computer. After basketball practice, instead of walking home with Henry to rush into his room, he stretched out in his bed and listened to his mp3 player until dinner, every song reminding him of Henry. Sometimes he rolled toward the wall and jerked off, wanting the hand on his cock to be Henry's, unable to imitate his rough palm and slow, certain strokes. He'd fuck himself on his fingers, frustrated enough to cry when they felt nowhere near as good as Henry's cock, missing the feeling of Henry's hands gripping his hips as he worked his way in.

He'd expected to miss the sex, but he also missed sneaking looks at Henry when they passed in the halls at school, or ate at the dinner table, Peter's chest tightening with the sweet pressure of their secret. He missed watching stolen movies on Henry's laptop, lying on his side and letting Henry feed him Twizzlers. He missed the way Henry looked at him, like he thought Peter was kind of hilarious but also amazing, worth staring at. He began to feel more and more hollow, longing for the sardonic laughter and irreverent comments, the smell of Henry's sheets and that rough little attempt at a beard rubbing against his balls when Henry lapped at the base of his cock.

Henry just started staying out more and more, sometimes not coming home at all.

One night, a few weeks before Christmas break, Peter went to a party thrown by one of his basketball teammates. The guy's parents were out of town, and there was a keg, a liquor cabinet, and plenty of pot. Peter didn't want to embarrass himself by trying to smoke, so he opted for vodka, because it mixed easily with Sprite. A couple of hours later he was drunk and alone on the back porch, snow coming down in pathetic little flakes as he dialled Henry's cell phone number.

"Yeah?" Henry said when he answered, and Peter was taken off guard. He'd been composing a long voicemail message in his head, hadn't expected Henry to still be sober enough to pay attention to his phone.

"Hey," Peter said, slurring. "S'me."

"No shit. Saw your name on the caller ID."

Knowing this, Peter was even more surprised that Henry had answered. Maybe Henry wasn't as mad at him as he'd thought. He sat there in silence, his mouth hanging open as he tried to decide what to say.

"I got my college acceptance letters," Peter said, hoping he wouldn't sound like he was bragging. "Mum didn't say, so I just wanted to… I think I'm going to go to London. They have a pretty good geology department. Also, s'a big city."

"A big city." Henry snorted. "Good for you. And I should give a shit why?"

"I didn't say you should," Peter said, that rage that made him call Henry a loser building in his chest. He was so tired of being dismissed as if he'd meant nothing to Henry all along. "Just – thought you might like to know. Since we fucked for a year and half."

"Barely a few months. You held out on me until last year, remember? And it was just fucking. You were good. Thanks for the memories. Have fun with your big city."

"Henry, wait," Peter said, afraid his voice would break, but it just wavered. "I – I'm sorry, I just wanted you to stay in school with me, and then you acted like you didn't care what I thought –"

"Yeah, probably 'cause I don't. You done now?"

Peter hung up, shaking with anger. The yard was dark and quiet as he listened to the party raging on inside the house, people with normal school experiences having a good time. He wanted to be like them, wanted to go back in time and never fall under Henry's spell, wished he'd never been born into his family and into Henry's fucked-up world. He thought about ten-year-old Henry and what would have become of him if Peter hadn't let him into his room that night, then pushed the thoughts away. Henry didn't need him, just wanted to get off, whether it was on bullying him or fucking him. All he'd wanted was to be on top, and Peter had let him win every time.

The rest of year 11 passed quickly, and he did all he could to forget Henry. This was difficult, considering they lived together. Then, almost as if God himself was taunting him, when Peter took the recycling out to the pavement one morning, delirious and wearing nothing but his pyjama pants, he found Henry there, loading their garbage into a truck that he was apparently driving. They stared at each other for a moment, and Henry grinned.

"I figured it was fitting," Henry said, holding his arms out. "Probably exactly what you thought I'd end up doing."

"What –" Peter said softly, still mostly asleep, still holding onto the recycling. Henry was looking different nowadays, his hair neater and his stubble gone. Even his chest seemed broader, and right now he was hiding behind tinted goggles, a fat set of headphones looped around his neck.

"I'll take that, sir," Henry said, giving Peter a smart ass smirk as he ripped the recycling bin out of his hands. "Guess mum'll be happy; she's been nagging at me to get a job."

He tossed the contents of the bin into his truck, then chucked the empty bin onto the grass. Peter was still dumbstruck, staring. Something about the fact that Henry was wearing short sleeves with heavy gloves made him flush.

"Why are you all comatose?" Henry asked, waving his hand in front of Peter's face. "You're really that surprised to see me with a job?"

Henry didn't seem embarrassed, and he actually seemed happier than Peter had seen him in years, without the frustrations of school and the teachers who'd given up on him, and without Peter around, rubbing his accomplishments in Henry's face. Peter had thought he was over Henry, but he suddenly felt desperate for him, even with the reek of the idling garbage truck close by.

"I'm glad you're okay," Peter said. "You haven't been talking to me."

"Hard to believe I could live without you, is that it?" Henry said, still joking, but he pushed the goggles up onto his head and showed Peter's his eyes. They were as dark and coolly disinterested as ever, but there was calmness in them now, and Peter couldn't believe how much older Henry seemed in a bin man's uniform.

"School has sucked without you," Peter said, though what he really meant was that life had sucked, since he'd hardly ever seen Henry at home or school even back when he was attending.

"Yeah, well," Henry said. He seemed at a loss for a moment, as if he hadn't expected Peter to offer him anything resembling kindness. Peter was only half-awake, and too stunned by the sight of Henry to have his defences up.

"I gotta go," Henry said, gesturing to the truck. "Trash en't gonna collect itself."

"Henry."

"What?"

Peter just stood there with his mouth open. He watched Henry's eyes rake down his body for the third time, and remembered that he was half-naked. He flushed, folding his arms over his chest, and Henry smirked.

"You look all grown up," Henry said. Peter was surprised; he hadn't noticed any difference in himself in the past six months.

"So do you," Peter said. Henry snorted and headed for the driver's side door of the truck.

"I always have been, compared to you," Henry said.

Peter wanted to shoot back with something like, Yeah, well, you were still a virgin until I came along, but he didn't bother. Henry climbed into the truck, and Peter watched him pull down to the next driveway, load the trash and then the recycling. It was weirdly mesmerizing. Henry looked back and laughed when he saw Peter staring.

"Was I the most exciting thing that ever happened to you or what?" Henry said in a shout, shaking his head.

Peter flipped him off and walked into the house, his face on fire. He hurried into his bedroom, ignoring his mother's announcement that breakfast was ready, locked the door and shoved his pyjama pants down, kneeling onto the bed. He bent down with his head to the mattress and pinched his eyes shut, gritting his teeth and jerking his cock as he gave himself over to a fantasy about Henry fucking him while wearing those dirty gloves, that rough leather closed around Peter's hips. He came hard and fast, groaning into the mattress and slumping over, panting. He hated being a slave to this, but he couldn't deny it. He wanted Henry so badly that his bones were burning. He punched his pillow in frustration, listening to the sound of the garbage truck through his open bedroom window.

The rest of the school year felt inconsequential, with everyone's college plans already set. Peter ended up going to his prom with Katrina, though they went as friends, and Peter got the feeling that she'd somehow figured out that he was gay. He started to suspect that more people had noticed him being single than he'd realized, girls no longer pursuing him. Prom was fun, but the whole exercise felt kind of hollow. Peter got drunk at the party afterward, but not drunk enough to call Henry, though he did sit in Alex Niehauser's living room reading through old text messages from Henry while the others watched Back to the Future on TV, drunkenly proclaiming it to be the best movie ever. To Peter, they all seemed hopelessly immature, nice enough but not interesting. He walked home alone and stayed up until sunrise, staring at his bedroom window and listening to his mp3 player, favouring old songs that Henry had introduced him to.

All summer, every Wednesday morning, Peter woke to the sound of the garbage truck outside, snuck to the window and peeked out at Henry. He seemed to get bigger and stronger every week, hoisting the garbage bins onto the truck more easily as the months passed. He was usually listening to music, singing to himself obliviously, as if he didn't even remember that this house was theirs. Peter kept waiting to catch Henry rooting through his garbage in some desperate attempt to catch a glimpse of Peter's life, but Henry just threw the trash into the truck without hesitating. At home Henry just took his breakfast, lunch and dinner into his room, only happening to bump into Peter when he needed the toilet.

The time came to pack for college, and Peter was reluctant, everything about his life at home feeling unfinished. His mother told him to sort through his old toys, and just the thought of throwing them away gave him an uneasy pang, though he knew there was no point in saving them; even Henry had outgrown the Nerf guns he used to love so much. When he opened his toy chest to sort out what to trash and what to put up in the attic, he felt a crushing pressure between his ribs. It was a million years ago, those days when he would spend all morning in his own little world, trotting his toys around the backyard, his eyes sneaking to the back door that Henry could walk out of any second and his heart pounding as he tried to talk himself out of going to find him. He picked up Rexy and couldn't even bring himself to relegate it to the attic; it was too depressing. Peter's father gave him Rexy just a few months before leaving, and when his father was gone Rexy became something sacred, a piece of his father that he could still cling to. Later Rexy became something else, a sort of friend who would never let him down the way his father had.

Peter sighed and put Rexy in the box of things he would bring to college, not sure what his roommate would make of a dinosaur toy sitting on his bookshelf but unable to let his old friend go. He thought of the Action Man t-shirt he'd tried to wear to middle school and tossed the rest of his old toys into a garbage bag bound for the attic.

It shouldn't have stung so badly to takee the bag out to the garbage, but it did, maybe for the thought that it was Henry who had yet again tossed all of Peter's childhood memories into the trash. Peter went up to his room and slammed the door, determined to be angry at his brother and not at himself. Again he'd been reckless, and again something that had once meant a lot to him had been trashed. So what if those things had no place in the life he was headed for? He moaned and sat down on his bed with his head in hands, resisting the urge to pull Rexy from the box on his desk and take comfort in the sight of old toy. He was too old for this sort of shit.

On the day before he left for college, Peter finished packing up his room. He was planning on hitting the road early the next morning for the drive to London, wanting to get the whole thing over with in one day.

Still, driving away was hard, as if he was leaving his whole childhood behind, severing that part of himself for good. The picnic table, the stupid Purple Hand Gang he always tried to get into, the rolling around on bed sheets as quietly as they could when they had the chance. He flipped on the radio and tried to find a song that wasn't sad, not wanting to return to his empty childhood bedroom. When he ended up driving back to his house, it felt like he'd been drawn there against his will, but that was always how it was with Henry.

He got out of the car, prepared to be rejected, still feeling a little tender after packing up all his stuff. The day was bright and hot, and it felt a little bit like the end of the world. Peter knew that Henry was the last person he should expect comfort from, but he also seemed like the only person who could give it.

He walked inside, grateful his mum wasn't around so he didn't have to explain himself. Jolting upstairs, he knocked on Henry's door, no longer welcome enough to just walk inside. There was no answer, and everything seemed deadly quiet. It was afternoon, and Peter wondered if Henry was still on his garbage route, or if he was out with friends, or in there fucking somebody else. After waiting almost three minutes for an answer at the door, he turned away, feeling drained and small, the prospect of driving to London alone in the morning making him queasy.

"You still here?" he called as Peter was heading down the stairs, and he looked up, the door still shut.

"Thought you would have shipped off for college already," Henry said.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Peter said. His whole chest went tense with hope. He wanted to be up in that room, in the cool dark, Henry on top of him, kissing him like it meant something while the little floor fan blew against them. He waited, his hands curling into fists as he rested his back against the door, chewing his lip.

"Leaving tomorrow," Henry said. "So you came for your farewell fuck?"

"I wanted to see you," Peter said. "You barely even said goodbye to me, and only that because mum made you. I just wanna see you." He had nothing left to lose, and he'd been stripped bare by throwing away all his old stuff. Henry was something he could still get back.

"Well, come in," Henry said, sighing as if this was putting him out. "Door's not locked."

Peter walked inside, his vision tunnelling as he pushed the door open. There was never a single light on inside Henry's room, and the whole place smelled like old pizza and cigarettes. Peter thought that Henry would smell like garbage, but when he opened the door to his room and Henry grinned at him, standing up off the bed, he smelled more like Fruit Loops and soap, his sandy hair damp like he'd just come from the shower. He looked sleepy as he walked over to him, and he was zipping a pair of jeans over his boxers as Peter stood there looking at him, begging with his eyes.

"Shit, Peter," Henry said, sounding a little bit exasperated. "C'mere."

Peter whined a little, mostly at the realisation that it could have been this easy all along. He walked forward and put his arms around Henry's shoulders, pressing his face to Henry's neck. Henry's arms wound around his back, one of Henry's thumbs stroking over his t-shirt, and Peter sighed hard, his last, paltry defenses dropping away as he went soft in Henry's arms.

"It's been a weird day," Peter said, pulling Henry closer, pressing their chests together.

"Been a weird year," Henry said. He reached up to rub the back of Peter's neck. "Know what I mean?"

"Yeah." Peter pulled back, keeping his face close to Henry's, wanting to taste his Fruit Loop breath. Henry grinned, still trying to be cool, but Peter could feel his hands shaking.

"I shouldn't have had such a shit fit when you left school," Peter said. "You seem happier now. I was just scared. I know you're going to laugh at me, but I fucking care about what happens to you, alright?"

Henry studied him for a minute, his face unreadable. Peter could see the tan lines that Henry's garbage-collecting goggles had left on his face even in the low light of the room.

"Not gonna laugh at you," Henry said. He pressed his face to Peter's, holding his gaze for a few seconds before kissing him. Peter let out a breath he felt like he'd been holding all year, pushing it between Henry's lips as they opened for each other, tongues sliding together.

"God, fuck," Henry said, moaning and reaching down to squeeze Peter's ass. "You taste better than I remembered."

Peter sort of whimpered, not caring how pathetic he seemed; Henry always forgave him for that, even if he teased him for it, too. He surged up onto his toes as Henry kissed him harder, growling with satisfaction, and Peter laughed against Henry's lips when Henry lifted him off the floor, pulling Peter's legs around his waist.

"Yeah," Peter said hoarsely as Henry carried him to the bed.

"Yeah?" Henry said, pulling back to smirk at him. "Yeah, that what you came for?"

"Need it, please," Peter said, already tearing off his clothes as Henry dumped him onto the bed.

"Fuck, I know you do," Henry said, looking kind of dangerous as he undressed. Peter didn't care; he wanted it all, as hard as Henry would give it.

Henry wasted no time getting Peter's cock in his mouth, and Peter groaned and punched the headboard, his legs opening wider as Henry's chin rubbed over his balls. It had been too long, and Peter was going to come so hard, his hands closing into Henry's hair. Henry moved up to drag his teeth over Peter's nipples and Peter arched, wanting to press every part of himself into Henry's hot mouth. He grabbed Henry's head and yanked him up for a bruising kiss, both of them breathless and sloppy, hungry for each other.

Peter pushed Henry onto his back, knowing that Henry was letting him do it only because he was anticipating his blow job. Henry had gotten much stronger since the last time Peter had been pinned by him, and Peter's cock was leaking just from the sight of Henry's body, his new muscles tightening as he groaned and shoved himself deeper into Peter's mouth.

"Yeah, shit, suck that dick," Henry said, taking a handful of Peter's hair. "Fucking – ahh, Peter, God. Missed the way you drooled for it, little cocksucker."

Peter moaned around Henry's cock, trying to take him deeper. It had been a while, but he hadn't forgotten this feeling, the squeeze of Henry's fat cockhead at the back of his throat as the width of the shaft stretched his lips. He liked the impatient hand in his hair, the filthy words, the way Henry bucked his hips greedily, and he was panting for more when Henry pushed him off.

"Gotta fuck you now," Henry said, fumbling for lube, looking a little crazed. Peter nodded and flopped onto his back, holding his legs open, his swollen lips parted as he watched Henry slick himself.

"You need to be opened?" Henry asked, crawling forward.

"Nuh-uh. Just do it. Hard, please, I need you so hard."

Henry just groaned, and Peter loved seeing him fall apart for this. He was slow going in, watching Peter go crazy for the feeling of being stretched, his thumbs working his nipples as he arched and cried out. Henry grabbed both of Peter's hands and pinned them over his head, leaning down to work on Peter's nipples with his mouth as he sank in deeper. Peter was out of his mind with how good it felt, that familiar push, being filled, fucked open by Henry. Maybe he would never figure out why he needed this, but he did, and he groaned into Henry's mouth as Henry covered Peter's lips with his, kissing Peter like he was a thing Henry owned. Peter wanted it, to belong to Henry, still his favourite toy.

"Fuck, you're tight for me," Henry said, breathing the words into Peter's open mouth. "So fucking tight, Peter – no one's ever been in you 'cept me, have they?"

"Hell no," Peter said, staring up at Henry, panting. "You f-fucking know I'm yours."

"That's right," Henry said, though if the lost look in his eyes was any indication, this was news to him. He kissed Peter again, sighing into him and beginning to roll his hips. They were both sweating already, sliding together so well, like no time had passed at all, Henry's elbows sinking down around Peter's ears, his mouth so hungry and wet that Peter felt like he'd drown. He wanted to drown, to disappear inside this feeling, blown apart by how good it was to get fucked again, to have Henry pounding into him, hovering over him, staring down at Peter with those dark, possessive eyes, like Peter was his captive.

"Fucking look at you," Henry said, holding Peter's jaw with one hand, his other hand in Peter's hair, tipping his head back. "Blushing under your fucking freckles. Such a little boy." He licked across Peter's lips, moaning as if he could hardly stand it, and Peter came when Henry reached between them to grab his cock. His fingers were rougher than Peter remembered, hardened during their year apart, and Peter's eyes were leaking as his cock went off in Henry's hand. He reached up and pulled Henry down to him, hiding his wet face against Henry's shoulder as Henry huffed and snapped his hips, driving in deep.

"D'you miss my come s'much as you missed my dick?" Henry asked, barely getting the words out; Peter could hear how tight his jaw was, how hard he was trying to make this last, to hold himself back.

"Yeah," Peter cried. "Please, fucking – fill me up, make me dirty."

"Unghh," Henry groaned out, his hips pistoning crazily now, and Peter knew he would be sore but he didn't care, just opened his legs wider as Henry's face pressed to his neck.

"My dirty boy," Henry said with a weak laugh. His teeth closed over the slope between Peter's neck and shoulder as his orgasm ripped out of him, and Peter screamed. He wrapped his arms around Henry's neck, his legs around Henry's back, and listened to Henry pant as he pumped his load into Peter, his teeth slowly dislodging from Peter's skin. Henry sighed and let Peter run his fingers through his hair, which hung in sweaty strands around Peter's face when Henry lifted his head. Henry seemed kind of out of it, his eyes still closed, and he rested his cheek against Peter's.

"Shit," Henry said, breathing the word out, sounding astonished and so tired.

"Yeah," Peter said, and he kissed the corner of Henry's eye. Henry bent down to lick over the bite mark he'd left on Peter's shoulder and Peter let his head drop back, his eyes sliding shut as the broken skin throbbed. It was a good throb, like the burn in his ass, Henry's cock still pushed inside him.

"Fucking pretty boy," Henry muttered as he licked his way up Peter's neck and along his jaw. He sounded kind of irritated, but Peter still took it as a compliment, smiling lazily until Henry found his mouth, kissing him with a softness that could only be attributed to exhaustion. They stayed like that for a long time, and in Peter's mind they were under the picnic table, the purple leaves moving like music in the wind. He wanted this every day, to be reduced to Henry's sated captive, Henry's tongue soothing him back to consciousness, his cock going soft in Peter's opened ass.

"You need a fucking haircut," Peter said when he finally cracked his eyes open, pushing Henry's hair behind his ear. Henry grinned, but it was a pathetic imitation of his usual smugness, his heart not really in it. His eyes locked on Peter's, and Peter knew he was thinking about what he'd said before, thinking that this was the last time. He still hadn't pulled out.

"Don't let anybody fuck with you at college," Henry said, his face growing stern and serious. "Don't let the assholes push you around. And don't wear your fucking Action Man shirt."

"Whatever," Peter said. "It'd probably be cool now, right? Nostalgia, irony, that sort of thing."

"You'll never be cool, bro," Henry said, still huddled around him, smiling more genuinely now. "You'll always be my little dork."

"Then you'd better come with me," Peter said, his heart pounding. "Keep the cool kids from beating me up on the playground. That sort of thing."

Henry snorted and rolled off of Peter. He cast around on the windowsill and cursed when he found that his pack of cigarettes was empty, throwing it across the room. Peter rolled onto his side and stared at Henry, who was looking up at the ceiling, pushing his hair off of his forehead. He tucked one arm behind his head, his mouth twitching as if he was fighting the urge to say something.

"I mean it," Peter said. He propped himself up on an elbow and spread one hand across Henry's chest, unable to believe how strong he was now, how easily he'd hoisted Peter off the floor. "Have you got any money saved up? From your job?"

"Some," Henry said. He scratched at his elbow. "But that's bullshit. I can't fucking move across the country just because we had a good fuck for old time's sake."

"Don't be a dick," Peter said. He touched Henry's jaw and turned his face, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Please? Don't you want to come with me?"

"Of course I fucking do. But –"

"But what? I've talked to the guy who's going to be my roommate, he's from Yorkshire. He said he won't be there until Monday, he's got some baseball tournament or something. That would give you almost four days to find an apartment. You could crash in my room while you looked."

"Jesus," Henry said, moaning and rubbing his hands over his face. "You're crazy. You think they'd just let me into your dorm with all the other clean cut darlings?"

"You look clean cut, enough," Peter said, touching Henry's cheek. "But, believe it or not, there are guys with druggie-like goatees and long hair on college campuses."

Henry scoffed and looked at the ceiling again, his mouth still twitching. Peter kissed his closed lips, then licked against them, coaxing them open.

"Come with me," Peter said. "Please?" He thought of putting Rexy in the bag bound for college, and the reason that he did it. "I want to bring something from home, something I love."

Henry jerked his eyes to Peter's, looking like he'd been slapped. The shock drained from his face, and Peter's heart slammed in his chest. He never could conjure a real mental image of driving his car across the country by himself, and now he was picturing Henry in the passenger seat, the window rolled down, a cigarette wagging between his lips while he ranted about Peter's music choices.

"Please?" Peter said again, rubbing his thumb along Henry's jaw. He didn't want to make the same mistake that his mother had, especially with his own brother, but he didn't want to live like he had for the past year, and some part of him had always trusted Henry not to hurt him. It was why he'd submitted to those games as a kid, because he liked being brought to the very edge, his heart pounding, breath stuttering, and then being set free. It was why he always came back for more.

"You really need me that bad, huh?" Henry said.

"Yeah," Peter said. He closed his eyes and rested his head against Henry's chest, the anxiety that had been twisting him into knots for the past year beginning to drain away as Henry's fingers scratched through his hair. "Need you to turn my t-shirts inside out. Show me how to download free porn. Stuff like that."

Henry laughed, and Peter could hear the relief in it. The blinds were bent a little from one time they'd got a little too passionate, and one thin beam of sunlight was streaming through, streaking across Henry's chest and Peter's shoulder.

"Alright, then," Henry said. He cleared his throat. "If you need me."

"Yeah. I do."

They fell asleep, Henry tired from his shift and Peter emotionally drained, glad to wake up to Henry's warm skin and irritable groans. He rolled Henry against him, hugging him hard while he slept. In a few hours they would pack up whatever Henry wanted to take with him: the laptop and his mp3 player, maybe an ashtray or two. Peter craned his neck, taking a last look at the room where he lost his virginity and had his first real, hard kiss. In Peter's memories it was an abandoned warehouse and a sketchy doctor's office, a place big enough to hide in, the place everyone was forbidden to go into with a 'stay out' sign warning them, until Henry finally let Peter in. They didn't know what they were going to say to mum, or what was going to happen to them. All they knew was, whatever they were went deeper than blood, and they were brothers who loved each other, in every way that a person could be loved.


End file.
